


Seed

by gloria_scott



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms, Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Dystocia, Gen, Imprisonment, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Names impart meaning to our lives and set our feet upon the road of destiny. Loki’s only hope of escape lies within the seed he has cast, and the promise of a name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seed

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Written for [this prompt](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/8802.html?thread=18464354#t18464354) on the norsekink meme: _Loki in the Asgard dungeon, mouth sewn shut and painfully giving birth by himself while chained to the wall._  
>  (2) Features intersex!Loki

He could feel its heartbeat in the darkness, pulsing like a star deep within the firmament of his body, growing in strength as the days of his confinement grew longer. It was his only companion, and he sang to it, wordlessly humming the ancient ballads he had learned as a child.

Had they known when they held him down and stitched his lips together with golden thread to still his silver tongue? When they delivered him to the cold stone and iron chains of their deepest dungeon?

Loki doubted it. He had hidden his secret well behind dull eyes and blank mind as they sat in judgment of him. The secret couldn’t keep much longer, though. The child grew even in the absence of light, slowly but surely, like a stalwart weed in a dry culvert. If they had bothered to look in on him they would have seen the tell-tale bulge of his belly – all the more noticeable for being set upon a wasted frame, starved and abused. He had nothing to feed it after all, so it fed upon him. So be it.

He has tried to put off the inevitable, hoping against reason he would be released from this prison before it was time, but this child would be born in captivity. The pain of his labor comes in waves, each successive crest crashing harder than the last, until he’s doubled over and pressing his forehead against the cold stones, panting and soaked in sweat.

In this condition he can no longer deny his Jötunn form. His vestments melt away to corded blue skin, and the slit between his legs pulses slick with blood. He hauls himself up by the chains around his wrists to squat on his haunches, his body instinctively assuming the birthing position. It becomes unbearable – the pressure in his womb – it should break through but it doesn’t.

Something’s wrong.

He has kept his silence, not wanting to display his suffering for his captor’s amusement. But now the moans that escape him quickly crescendo to wordless, stifled screams as his pain turns to agony, and his agony to panic.

He barely hears the scrape of metal on metal over the sound of the screaming in his head. A familiar and hated voice cuts through the din.

“Brother.”

Loki’s cries extinguish like a guttered candle flame. Of course, it had to be him. Relief and gratitude do battle with loathing and anger, reaching only a bloody stalemate.

Thor is kneeling beside him now asking, “What is the matter?”

He opens his eyes to the sun. Thor’s face glows with light even in this desolate hole – the golden child of Odin. His eyes drip with concern, but show no sign that he’s marked the change in Loki’s form.

Loki casts his gaze down upon his belly, then back to Thor. He cringes at the touch of Thor’s warm palm upon the swell below his ribs, and almost laughs through his agony when Thor pulls back, mouth agape.

 _With child, yes_ , Loki answers in thought, a smile tugging at the sutures in his lips, until another wave of agony sends him crashing against the stones again.

When he can open his eyes once more, he searches for the tendrils of a bridge long since severed, when they had known each other so intimately they had little need for words to pass between them.

_It’s wrong…breach…help…_

Thor surges towards him and grasps him by the nape of his neck. He understands.

_What is it you need me to do?_

In his current condition, Loki can hardly explain the finer points of midwifery, so he jangles a chain with his wrist to catch Thor’s attention, and makes a turning motion with his hand.

Thor nods and backs away. Bellowing for one of the guards to bring him some water, he removes the cape from his shoulders and spreads it upon the dirty floor before Loki’s feet. He laves his hands in the small basin that is brought and left by the guard, and reaches between his brothers legs.

Loki fights to steel himself and not kick out at the touch. Thor’s hand enters him, pushing back and rotating the child, then grasping and drawing it forth in one swift motion.

It’s done.

Loki falls to his knees and strains forward as far as the chains will allow, but it is out of his reach – a slimy mess of red blood and blue skin staining the crimson fabric. Not the blue of Jötunn skin, but the blue of breathlessness, and of death.

Thor bends down and clears the gore from its mouth with his finger, lifts it by the ankles and gives it a slight shake to clear the lungs. He delivers one light slap upon its backside and then another, harder, but it makes no noise.

Loki lunges forward with a wordless cry, viciously rending the flesh of his wrists against the cruel iron of the shackles. _Give it to me!_ Thor pays him no mind, still intent upon his work. What can Loki do for it anyway, but mourn? He slumps forward giving all his weight to the chains, and weeps.

But Thor has not given up. He brings the babe to his lips and blows air and the hope of life into its mouth and nose. Once, twice, thrice. He holds it up and shakes it again – a ragdoll in his giant paw – then repeats the breaths until his next swipe on the rump elicits a tiny, mewling cry that is swallowed up in the oppressive darkness of the cell.

Thor looks at Loki and smiles that stupid, guileless smile, as if what has just happened were a miracle worthy of celebration and song. Loki takes a perverse pleasure in watching the reality slowly dawn upon him, wiping the smile from his face.  
Of course, Odin will never allow it to live. All of Thor’s efforts have gone to saving a corpse.

Thor says nothing, but puts the child down upon the cape again and gently washes her clean with the water from the basin. He wraps her in an unsoiled corner of the fabric and makes as if to stand. Loki is up on his knees again, struggling against the chains that bind him fast and cursing the fine threads that keep him mute. His eyes meet Thor’s and he makes his final entreaty.

_Let me see her. Please._

Thor hesitates, then sets the child to Loki’s breast and holds it there.

Even if she only lives for an hour, she will be his. Loki’s tears fall upon her head in place of the ritual water, and he silently claims her for his own.

_I own this child for my daughter. She shall be called Bergdís._

Voices stir outside the door to his prison. Thor glances up, then quickly gathers the child into his arms and stands.

“I swear to you brother, no harm will come to her.”

There is no lie in his eyes. At least, he believes what he says to be true. He may tell Odin that she was stillborn, find a surrogate, hide her away. But Thor was ever a novice at the fine art of deception, and Odin sees quite clearly through his one good eye. She may yet be delivered to her sister Hel’s care before the sun sets on her first day.

Either way, he has done what he could. Names are a powerful magic – they have the ability to set our feet upon fate’s path – and it was the only magic he had left to give her. He sinks back against the cold stone and watches Thor go.  
His fate rests in her hands now. Mayhap she will live up to the promise of her name.  
*****  
  



End file.
